


crimson & bare as i stand (yours completely)

by remuslupin



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Fluff, IDK IT'S SO GAY, M/M, Minor Violence, Pre-Canon, Prequel, it's a whole rollercoaster of emotions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 16:38:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10032626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remuslupin/pseuds/remuslupin
Summary: ❝Laslow had compared him to a rose, once-- he had called Xander beautiful, in every way imaginable; but harsh, and dangerous (and indeed, his retainer has been pricked by Xander’s thorns more than once before).❞[ rework of the nohr drama cd. ]Xanlow Exchange gift for tumblr user lieano!





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lieano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lieano/gifts).



> oh my god i'm late as always BUT THIS IS MY FILL FOR THE XANLAS EXCHANGE! 
> 
> i decided to go with my receiver's first prompt, which was "make one of them cry and make it sad. happy ending is optional." i'm not sure if i managed to make it sad enough dsiufhlgf but i hope you like it all the same!
> 
> it's basically a rework of their (super gay) drama cd interactions under the premise of them being in a lowkey relationship, featuring more of an insight into both of their thoughts etc! this ended up being really fun to write and i spent a lot of time perfecting it towards the end, i'm so sorry i made you wait! 
> 
> ty to my pal nova for reading through it for me xx
> 
> enjoy! kudos/comments are much appreciated!
> 
> title taken from "cold" by aqualung.

“It’s starting to rain, milord.”

Laslow’s words shatter the precariously thin windowpane of silence that had slowly come to separate his liege from himself during their trek through the lonely trails of the forests surrounding Nohr’s capital. So far, their long-winded attempts to find Corrin have been completely fruitless, and Laslow is sure that he is most certainly as tired as Xander currently looks.

He has, however, been in the Crown Prince’s service long enough to know that refraining from voicing that particular opinion would likely serve to be a good idea. “Here. I brought a cape.” Though Xander takes it, he does not make a move to put it on. Instead, he reaches forward and drapes it over Laslow’s shoulders, gloved fingers brushing over his retainer’s collarbone after he fastens the buckle of the clothing.

“Milord--”

“It’s fine,” he starts, hand ghosting over Laslow’s temple under the pretence of pushing a lock of hair away from his eyes. “You’re cold.”

After bestowing Bucephalus with one final pat along the length of his neck, Xander turns his attention away from both his steed and Laslow so that he may look back towards the abandoned building that the pair had come to a halt in front of. While he loosens his grip on his own horse’s reins, however, Xander’s companion does not look particularly enthused about the possibility of investigating the site further. “Please be careful, Milord. This place used to be overrun with outlaws and thieves.”

Xander can only hope that his resulting expression conveys the fact that he doesn’t exactly _care_. Not when Corrin’s life is on the line. “I’m going to investigate. If you wouldn’t like to, I’d suggest you go home.”

Though Laslow looks far from pleased, it only takes a moment after he turns away before the Prince finally hears the soft footfalls of boots following behind him. If he’d been listening just a little more closely, he’d hear his retainer utter a quiet, “you know I can’t do that.”

The trek inside the building is short: Xander pushes the front door open and Laslow shifts uncomfortably at the sudden sight of something moving towards him, but upon further inspection, the third occupant of the open space turns out to be nothing more than a field mouse.

“Well… It doesn’t exactly seem like anything is out of place,” Laslow starts, albeit a little unsurely. Before he has the chance to step past the threshold, however, Xander thrusts a hand out in front of his retainer and firmly holds him in place.

“Wait. I saw something.”  
  
What happens next happens _fast._ First, a Faceless shuffles purposely towards them, fists raised as it lets out an ear-shattering roar. Next, Laslow moves.

“Lord Xander, step aside!” The Prince, of course, has absolutely no intention to listen to his retainer’s frantic request, but his intended movements to block the swing of the Faceless’ shackled hand are countered by his retainer, who lets out a pained gasp upon leaping in front of Xander and completely shielding him from the attack.

“Laslow--”

“Ngh-- I’m fine! Don’t mind me!” He doesn’t believe his retainer for a _second._ But Xander’s wide eyes and frantically thumping heart (not to mention his overwhelming feeling of _fear)_ will just have to be put aside for the moment, because his attention is soon turned to the fact that the Faceless in front of Laslow is the least of their problems.

The pair are surrounded.

This could prove to be a slight problem.

A quick glance to the side tells Xander that Laslow doesn’t seem to be extraordinarily incapacitated, so the Prince forces himself to push his feelings aside for the moment, to pretend as if he’s alone on this makeshift battlefield, to _fight_. And fight he does. With an insistent swing of his sword, Xander is ducking around his retainer and taking up the stance of defender, of protector. Laslow, of course, evidently refuses to have that, judging by the way he immediately turns on his heel and brandishes his sword towards the assailants lurching towards them from the other direction-- but Xander does not allow himself to spare anything more intimate than a glance towards his retainer before he is busying himself with parrying, with swiping, with wiping out as many of the monsters as he possibly can.

Although he is quick to prove that he is peerless in his attack, even against multiple adversaries, stray sets of fists connect with various points across his body on more than one occasion, but Xander does not allow it to faze him. Instead, he uses the resulting pain to drive him forward, to push him onwards so that he can _end this,_ so that he and Laslow may live to see another day together.

Laslow.

Corrin all but forgotten for the moment, the last of Xander’s opponents finally falls to the floor with a resounding thump after a final swing of his sword, and once he’s sure that the monster will not get back up, he turns on his heel and locks his gaze on his retainer, who speaks at the first hint of silence.

“Was that all of them?”

“Seems to be,” the Prince answers evenly, though his brows are already beginning to furrow in concern.

“Are you okay?” Is what Laslow asks before Xander can speak up again, looking at the blonde with an abnormally _sincere_ expression which causes his heart to throw itself against his ribcage, as if it wants to get closer, to find out for itself whether _Laslow_ is alright. He wants to give in to their whims, but forces his feet to stay firmly planted in their current position at the last moment.

“I’m fine. Laslow--” This is where he finally gives in and takes a step forward, and he can feel his heart continuing to call out to Laslow’s own before his retainer is interrupting once more and--

“Is that so? I’m… I’m glad,” is all Laslow manages to get out before his knees finally buckle beneath his weight. The retainer begins to tumble to the floor, but Xander’s refined reflexes send him hurtling forward and catching Laslow in his arms before any more damage can be done. Once he is securely cradled in the Prince’s arms, Xander keeps a firm grip on his still form as he finally sinks to his own knees.

Though he is quick to reach out towards the retainer, his hand soons retracts hurriedly, almost as if he’s been stung, after spotting a trickle of blood seeping down the thin line of bare skin stretching across Laslow’s stomach as a result of his shirt riding up. It only takes a moment before he has finally located the most likely source of his sudden bout of weakness: a deep wound stretches across his torso and has stained the front of his shirt with a dark pool of crimson. “Laslow…” He starts rather unsurely, brows furrowing in horror. “Is this… Did this happen when you protected me?”

In response, the retainer chuckles quietly, hand lifting and pushing lightly against his own chest when a cough wracks his body due to the movement.  “I’m afraid I may have slipped up, milord. My apologies.”

“No. No, you didn’t. I’m going to stop the bleeding, alright? Just bear with me. Keep your eyes open.”

“Milord, you aren’t a healer.”

“No,” Xander agrees evenly, hand curled into a fist so tight that Laslow almost begins to wonder whether his liege will ever be able to let go, “but I _am_ a soldier.” And with that title comes years of battle, of bloodshed, of tending to wounds, regardless of whether he thought that the person would live to see their injuries be properly healed or not.

While relaying his quiet reassurances, Xander finally uncurls his fingertips so that he may tear a portion of fabric from the cape that he had draped so carefully over Laslow’s shoulders, but when he begins to make movements to stanch the bleeding, his retainer clenches his teeth in a thinly-veiled display of pain and winds a hand around his arm with a surprisingly harsh grip. “Lord Xander… I’ll only hold you back. Just leave me here…”

“Laslow. Don’t say such ridiculous things.” Xander continues to make movements to stop the bleeding once he has made his reply, but Laslow doesn’t seem to want to back down just yet.

“It’s fine, milord. Once I’ve rested a bit, I can make it back by myself--”

“Is that truly what you would have me do? Leave you out here, wounded and alone?” He’s almost offended by the insinuation that Laslow truly thinks he would leave him without any sort of argument. “In one night, I have lost both my sister, and the trust of my brother. I will not-- I _cannot_ allow you to lose your life! Do you not understand how important you are to me? I cannot leave you behind like this! I...” A noticeable quiver of Xander’s bottom lip is a consequence of the sudden halt in his sentence, and even though he takes a deep, steadying breath, he cannot bring himself to continue.

“Milord…”

“Xander.” His correction is quiet.

“Xander,” The retainer repeats quietly. “You haven’t lost me. I swear to you that you never will.”

A pause.

“Milord, are you--”

“No.”

“Of course not.” He reaches up and gently swipes at a stray tear slipping down Xander’s cheek anyway. “There’s no need to cr--”

“I know.”

“Will you ever let me finish a sentence?” Laslow hums gently, small smile quirking his lips upwards as he ducks his head in an attempt to capture his liege’s gaze. When Xander looks at him, he sees their first sparring match and the overwhelming smell of roses that had graced his senses when he’d gotten close enough to the swordsman.  

Laslow had compared him to a rose, once-- he had called Xander beautiful, in every way imaginable; but harsh, and dangerous (and indeed, his retainer has been pricked by Xander’s thorns more than once before). He hears the soft whisper of Laslow’s voice in his ears whenever they were certain of the fact that they were alone in one of Krakenburg’s dark and twisted hallways, and he feels Laslow’s hand, fingertips calloused and gentle as they twined with Xander’s own.

Now that he’s leaning in close, he can almost smell the familiar scent of roses wafting from his retainer, and for a moment, it helps him to pretend that they’re both inside Castle Krakenburg once again; that they are happy, in love, safe. Just for a moment.

Unfortunately, things are never that simple. Especially when they are not in Krakenburg, nor are they safe (the matter of love in a time of war is an obstacle that the pair will just have to address another day, when neither of them are bleeding out on the floor).

“Listen to me, please. Once I’ve rested for a little while, I can make it back by myself--” Which seems devastatingly unlikely, judging by the severity of his wound-- “But before that… I have to ask. Do you really believe that we’ll find Lady Corrin like this?

Eyebrows knitting together in confusion, it takes another moment before Xander finally replies. “What?”

“Normally you would never search so recklessly. Maybe… It would be a good idea to listen to what Lord Leo has to say. I know that you’re scared, but I’m sure that you’ll find Lady Corrin in no time if you combine your efforts.”

“I’m not…” But Xander cannot finish that sentence: he’s scared, and his retainer knows it. He’s _terrified_ , and losing his sister is not an option, especially when he had come so close to losing Laslow earlier.

If Laslow notices the slip in his facade, he does not comment. “Mi-- _Xander._ I’ve lost family as well. I know how you must feel right now, but if you forget about what you can truly do in this situation, you’ll come to regret it one day. I want you to always be able to smile with your siblings, and so…”

“That’s enough.”

“...My apologies.”

“I… No. Laslow, _I_ should be the one to apologise.”

“... What?”

“You’re right. We won’t find Corrin, not like this. The only thing my recklessness has achieved thus far is your injury.” Laslow looks like he wants to interrupt, but Xander hurriedly carries on, not wanting to lose his momentum. “You were right when you said that I have not lost you yet, and… I do not ever want to risk it happening. Which is why…” He pauses now, finally finishing his task of stanching Laslow’s wound before leaning down and brushing his lips fleetingly along the corner of his love’s mouth, “I’m taking you back to the castle.”

“But--”

“You need to let your injuries heal. Besides, were you not the one who said that searching blindly will not get us anywhere? I need to work with Leo, and in order to do that, we must return to Krakenburg.”

“Xander…”

The way that Laslow utters his name prompts a certain kind of warmth to flood Xander’s chest, and he gently takes his retainer’s hands in his own before ghosting his lips along Laslow’s cheek, his jawline, his nose. “To think that my emotions can be altered so easily by a playboy like you,” he teases quite uncharacteristically, and though the retainer cannot see his liege smile, he certainly feels it in the kiss that meets with his own lips.

It’s far from an outright declaration of his feelings, but judging by his next reply, Laslow has clearly understood the insinuation.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> #xanlas4lyfe


End file.
